“Pleasant trip?” Quinn asked.
“As far as I know,” she said. “I slept the whole way.”
“Where’s your stuff?”
Quinn heard a dull thud from under the table. Glancing down, he saw a brown duffel bag between Orlando’s feet.
“I’m traveling light,” she said.
“Anybody follow you?”
She stared at him. “Yeah,” she said. “He’s sitting at the table behind you. Would you like me to introduce you?”
Quinn smiled. “A simple no would have been fine.”
“Do you really think I’d be here if someone had tailed me?”
“So you did check, then,” he said.
“You can be really annoying sometimes, you know that?” she said. “Where’s Nate?”
“Keeping watch.”
“You left him outside?”
Quinn shrugged. “It’s good for him.”
The waiter returned with Quinn’s beer before either of them could say anything else.
“Would you like to order now?” he asked.
Orlando chose the lamb curry and a glass of cabernet sauvignon. Quinn ordered the chicken Madras and some garlic naan. By unspoken agreement, they engaged in small talk until the food arrived.
Their meals were served in copper-colored bowls, the aroma of curry, lamb, and garlic preceding the delivery by several seconds. Once the food was on the table, Quinn pushed the one containing the chicken Madras toward Orlando.
“Try it,” he said.
She took a spoonful and put it over some of the rice on her plate, then took a bite. The look of satisfaction on her face said it all. They ate in silence for several minutes.
“Anything new I need to know about?” Orlando finally asked.
“Not from Duke,” Quinn said. He took a sip of beer. “But I did talk to Peter last night. Apparently Duke’s onto some sort of meeting. Peter wants us to bug it and check it out.”
Quinn broke off a piece of naan and dipped it in his sauce before popping it in his mouth.
“What do you think?” Orlando asked. “Are these the guys?”
“I don’t know. It could be nothing.” Quinn reached for another piece of naan.
“But if it is them?”
Quinn didn’t answer.
On Sunday at 1:45 p.m., Quinn left the Four Seasons through the exit on Friedrichstrasse, then took the U-bahn across town to Charlottenburg. There he grabbed a cab and rode it basically back to the point where he’d begun, exiting in front of the Dorint Hotel. It may have been overkill, but there was always the possibility someone could have discovered what Duke was up to and, in turn, learned about Quinn’s arrival. If that was the case, he didn’t want anyone to realize Orlando and Nate were set up right next door.
As an additional precaution, Orlando was stationed in the square across the street from the Dorint, keeping him briefed via a micro — radio transmitter and receiver she’d brought with her. The receiver fit comfortably in Quinn’s ear and was invisible to the casual inspection. The microphone was no bigger than a button and was affixed to the inside of his collar. Nate, similarly wired up, sat in the small hotel lobby, glancing at a magazine and pretending to wait for someone.
Quinn’s check-in went quickly and efficiently. His room was prepaid, and all was ready for him. He asked if he had any messages, but there were none. The room was on the sixth floor. Another suite, though considerably smaller than the one at the Four Seasons. Quinn half expected to find an envelope with instructions waiting for him when he entered, but nothing was there.
He put his suitcase on the double bed, then took a seat on the couch in the living room. He switched on the TV and found that there were only two channels in English, CNN International and BBC World. According to the brochure on the coffee table, there was an additional pay movie channel in English, this month featuring a Stanley Kubrick retrospective including 2001: A Space Odyssey and Full Metal Jacket.
He flipped on the news first and caught the end of a report about a bus driver strike in France, then the beginning of a report about the upcoming Balkan conference sponsored by the European Union president, Gunnar Van Vooren. Uninterested, Quinn switched over to the movie channel and found himself in the middle of the space station scene of 2001.
“Taxi,” Orlando said in his ear. “Two men, suits. No luggage, but one is carrying a briefcase.” It was the third time she’d informed him of an arrival in front of the hotel. “They’re going inside.”
“Got ’em,” Nate said a few seconds later. “They’ve bypassed the front desk and are heading for the elevators.”
Several minutes later, Quinn heard footsteps in the hall outside. They stopped in front of the entrance to his room. For nearly thirty seconds, nothing happened. Then something was slipped under his door. Immediately Quinn could hear the footsteps receding down the hallway.
“Looks like I’ve just had a visitor,” Quinn said.
“They’re there now?” Orlando asked.
“No. But they left me something.”
He approached the door. On the floor was a manila envelope, not very thick. On the outside, in red, was a large X. Quinn shook his head. Sometimes he wondered if the people he worked with got their training out of Ian Fleming novels.
“They just came back out the elevator,” Nate whispered. “Could it hurt these guys to maybe smile a bit?”
“They’re grabbing a cab,” Orlando said in his ear.
“Did you get pictures?” Quinn asked.
“Of course.”
Quinn picked up the envelope and carried it back to a desk along the wall behind the couch. He used a letter opener from the desk drawer to slice open the top, then carefully slipped out the contents. Five pieces of paper. The top two were maps of Berlin; one focused on the Mitte, where the Dorint was located, and the other on the area known as Neukölln. One of the other pages was a wire-transfer confirmation of payment into one of Quinn’s many accounts, something he had already confirmed on his own earlier that morning. Another was a detailed brief of the operation. The final page was a reduced-down copy of blueprints to a building. Presumably it was the location of the upcoming meeting.
Quinn skimmed through the documents until he found what he was looking for. “Looks like Duke’s found out more about that meeting. He thinks it’s happening on Tuesday night.”
“Thinks?”
“‘Meeting Tuesday night, ninety percent,’” Quinn read. “In a building in Neukölln.”
“Any ID on the players yet?” Orlando asked.
“Only a partial. RBO out of South Africa. But even that’s uncertain.”
“Odd.”
“Yeah. I know.”
“Any mention of Borko?” Orlando asked.
Quinn scanned the brief. “Nothing.”
“Maybe Piper’s information was wrong.”
“Maybe,” Quinn said, voice neutral. He read a little more to himself. “Duke wants to do a drive-by with me this afternoon.”
“When?”
“In an hour.”
“Can I go back inside now?” she asked. “I’m freezing my ass off out here.”
“Yeah. When you get to the suite, download the pictures, and e-mail them to me. I’d like to take a look at them before I meet Duke.”
“You don’t want to come over to see them? Maybe bring me a king-size cup of coffee?”
Quinn smiled to himself. The cold Berlin winter seemed to be thawing Orlando out. “Just e-mail them. Nate’ll bring you a cup.”
“I hate you,” she said.
“So you’ve told me before.”
CHAPTER 18
Duke arrived in front of the Dorint Hotel ten minutes late in a Mercedes C320 sedan.